It was good to get an envelope through the post with a note from the editor of Obsessed With Pipework to say that they were planning to take five of my poems, to be published in the autumn edition. I took out a subscription to this after Ms Pants had some of her poems published by OWP and found myself reading it cover to cover, something I had not felt able to easily do with other, seemingly higher profile, magazines. This in itself was auspicious. I am also taking it as a good sign that the first step of my new year resolution to send work out to magazines has been given a thumbs up. I have also got a couple of new poems writ, and polished up a couple more that were languishing unattended, ragged at the edges or wanting a decent last line.
The bad news is that Cat of Signs has seen fit to piss on the carpet of what we now call the spare room. It’s the room downstairs that used to be the daughter’s bedroom, where we have a small piano and a sofa bed for when friends come to stay. C of S has generally been exhibiting what some people might call attention-seeking behaviour of late, caterwauling whenever I am wanting to attend to a piece of writing, dive-bombing from the top of the makeshift wardrobe onto the sleeping person of Mr. Signs at first bird light and generally howling at the moon in disconsolate fashion, and nagging me for milk, which she would like to have every day, but it is not good for her. I had a long conversation with a wonderful nurse at the vet’s. Cats happen to be her speciality. We need to take on board that she is, in cat terms, getting on a bit. The pissing and caterwauling may be down to a urinary infection but may also be a response to stress caused by a new gang of aggressive cats in the area. Worst case scenario is that she is developing a kind of dementia. I thought that I knew a fair bit about cats, having lived with one for nearly fourteen years but after talking to the nurse I realised - I know bollocks.